


Hearth Fires and Holocausts

by Care



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: Babyfic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Care/pseuds/Care
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Life As We Know It AU. Dan Humphrey and Blair Waldorf, this is your goddaughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearth Fires and Holocausts

**Author's Note:**

> I firmly believe there should be a Life As We Know It AU for EVERY FANDOM EVER. Because who doesn't love the trope of the couple that hates each other being saddled with a kid they have to raise together? NO ONE, THAT'S WHO. Also, none of the things that happened on the show happened in this AU and there's no Chuck because he blows. And I kind of made up the whole legal guardian/adoption process. Anyway, special thanks to kindness_says for the beta, and to the movies Breakfast at Tiffany's, The Philadelphia Story, His Girl Friday, and Life As We Know It for existing so I could rewatch them while writing this opus. Title taken from that lovely scene in the backyard between Katherine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart in The Philadelphia Story.
> 
> Originally posted on [Livejournal](http://care-says.livejournal.com/45348.html).

It's Serena who sets them up and Blair is skeptical from the start.

"He's a writer, like you," Serena says earnestly over the phone. "He's gotten some short stories published in a few magazines. He's pretty good; I think you'd like his work."

"He's Nate's college roommate?" Blair waves her hand through the air to dry the polish on her nails, trying not to sound too unenthused about the whole prospect. She also chooses not to point out that she's a fashion editor, and not a writer in the starving-artist sense, which she's pretty sure is how Serena is using the word right now.

"And his best friend," Serena adds. "Look, now that Nate and I are getting serious, I think you should get to know Dan. And it's been six months since you've been on a date."

"I've been settling in. Adjusting to my job."

"Well, you're settled in now. Plus, nothing says welcome back to New York City like a hot new date."

Which is how Blair finds herself sitting in a hipster coffee shop in Williamsburg, checking her lip gloss in the chrome reflection of the table. She isn't sure how she let him talk her into this because three years ago she would have never even gone near the Brooklyn Bridge, but she's trying for Serena's sake. Even if she didn't happen to mention that Dan didn't live in Manhattan. This is the New and Improved Blair Waldorf, the product of three years of self-growth and living abroad in France. She can deal with the outer boroughs, no problem.

But this place is hard for her to handle, with all its hipster pretentiousness. They serve her a cappuccino in a chipped mug as she slides her eyes over the clientele: Macbook, Macbook, Macbook, all accompanied by knitted hats and some very questionable suspenders. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and pulls out her phone, checks her emails from work. He's twenty minutes late.

She's about to leave when he finally arrives, peeling off his jacket to reveal a plaid collared shirt. He's not bad-looking -- Serena was right about that -- with his dark, curling hair and a hint of stubble lining his jaw. But honestly, where did he buy that shirt? Target? She's seen better-dressed dogs on the Upper East Side.

"Blair Waldorf?" he asks, approaching her table. "I'm Dan Humphrey. Sorry I'm late. I got caught up in..." He trails off, looking at her expectantly. "I hope you weren't waiting too long."

"Um," she says. "It's okay," though she doesn't feel forgiving. It's been almost an hour and she's long since finished answering any emails. "I was just...enjoying the ambience." She glances towards the next table, where a girl in pre-torn jeans is furiously texting on her phone, a dirty canvas bag of produce on the seat next to her.

Dan visibly brightens, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, isn't this place great?"

"The best," Blair says, with all the sarcasm she can muster, but he's scanning the menu scrawled in colored chalk behind the counter. Ugh, she hates Brooklyn. The last girl who came in offered the baristas a jar as a cup, a _jar_.

"So what do you do?" he asks when he's settled in with his mug of black coffee.

She straightens in her chair. "I'm the fashion editor at Elle magazine."

He gives her a polite smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. She can sense his disinterest right away and it stretches the silence between them, awkward and heavy.

"So you're a writer, I hear." She makes the attempt.

"Yeah."

"Fiction?"

"Yup." He takes another sip of coffee, looks down into the liquid. There's another pause.

"I do a little writing. At Elle. I used to do more. I was working for Vogue in Paris, but. Uh."

He looks bored.

"Look," she blurts out. "It's obvious that we're just doing this for Nate and Serena. You're not interested; I'm not interested. You dragged me out to this horrible little coffee shop in Brooklyn when we could've just met at a Starbucks in the city -- "

"Hey, you _agreed_ to meet me here!" Dan interjects hotly, his eyebrows knitting together. "You said you liked it!"

"I was being _sarcastic_. Are you unfamiliar with sarcasm too?"

He throws up his hands. "Great date. Thanks for the awesome time."

She grabs her purse and gets to her feet, swaying momentarily in her heels. "I can't believe Serena thought that we'd actually _like_ each other. And plaid is not a look that _anybody_ should embrace!" She throws a glare in the direction of the guys in the corner staring at her and storms out of the shop.

Later, nestled in the warm backseat of a taxi driving back to the Upper East Side, she leaves Serena a voicemail: "You must be fucking insane. You owe me a drink and it better be _now_."

Serena apologizes about twenty-seven times and promises she'll never have to see Dan again. It's a start.

 

Nate and Serena get married on a cloudless day in the Hamptons on Memorial Day. The air is a little too cool for a summer wedding, but Blair likes the breeze blowing off the water, slick with the taste of salt and promise. She starts to tear up as they're vowing their lives to each other, in sickness or in health, 'til death do they part, and the moment is only marred a little bit by the presence of Dan on the other side of Nate.

They take photographs running on the beach, Serena tripping over the hem of her wedding gown, and Blair's hair tangled by the wind. They dash into the surf, shrieking, as the spray drenches their dresses, laughing for the photographer. Nate and Serena clutch each other's hands and their smiles, God, Blair would give anything to have someone smile at her like that.

Instead she gets Dan elbowing her at the reception, the two of them leaning against the bar. She's sweaty from dancing and her feet throb in her shoes and she's tipsy-happy. The last thing she wants to do is talk to him, but, well, Dan is so good at figuring out how to ruin her mood.

"What did you think of my speech?" he asks, taking a sip of his beer.

She gives him a scathing look. "Sloppy work, Humphrey. You let your emotions get the best of you."

He shrugs and gestures with the bottle towards Serena and Nate, dancing together under the tent strung with white lights. "It's a happy occasion and he's my best friend."

"It made your speech clumsy," Blair says and takes her glass of Chardonnay from the bartender. "And stop talking to me. People will think that you're my date."

"Would that really be so horrible, Blair?"

Her face must answer for her because he laughs at her reaction. He shrugs, takes his beer with him, and disappears into a crowd of people.

 

"So what's the big occasion?" Dan asks, a forkful of green beans halfway to his mouth.

It's Tuesday night, but for some reason Serena insisted that Blair come for dinner. It's an unusual turn of events. As of late, Serena's been evasive and odd for weeks, canceling their lunch dates with shifty excuses and sounding distracted every time they manage to have a conversation. Even tonight -- she seems lost in thought, holding Nate's hand, the two of them exchanging looks with barely concealed glee.

Blair sets down her fork. "You two are being so secretive. What's going on?"

"We have an announcement," Nate says, grinning at Serena.

Serena ducks her head to hide her smile, but Blair catches it through the fall of her hair.

"Well?" Dan prompts. "Out with it, guys."

Nate clears his throat. "Well -- "

"We're pregnant!" Serena blurts out, the words almost garbled by her bubbly laughter."Well, I am, but we're having a baby!"

"Oh my god! Congratulations!" Dan gets to his feet, throwing his arms around Serena.

Blair lets out a little shriek, unable to help herself. She can barely process the news for a second. A baby? Serena and Nate are having a baby? She gets to her feet, gives Nate an affectionate hug. "I can't believe it! Congratulations, Nate!"

He can't seem to stop smiling. "I know, right? I'm going to be a dad. Isn't that ridiculous?"

"So ridiculous," Blair laughs. "When's the baby due?"

"The end of March. We were hoping maybe around the end of May, to coincide with our two-year anniversary, but really, whenever the baby wants to come will be good." Serena hugs Blair tight, tucking her face against her shoulder. "And there's more." She draws away.

"More?" Dan says. "Are you having twins or something?"

"No, but," Nate pauses. "We were hoping that you two would be the baby's godparents."

Blair feels her heart lurch unexpectedly. "Godparents?" She tries to imagine herself playing with a baby, Serena's baby. She never really thought about it, but hadn't they talked about it before? When they were teenagers, lying on Blair's bed, talking about how they were going to be best friends forever and their kids were going to be best friends too.

"You want both of us?"

"Yeah, of course. You're our best friends." Serena's face is happy and hopeful. She's glowing.

"Yes. _Yes_. Of course, yes." Blair looks at Dan, challenging him with her eyes.

He meets her gaze evenly. "Yes. It's an honor, guys. Really."

Nate spreads his arms wide. "This is going to be the luckiest baby in the world."

Blair can only look at them, Nate and Serena, and thinks to herself that yes, it really is going to be the luckiest baby in the world.

 

Clara Lily Archibald is born at 6:47 AM on the morning of March 17th. Blair's been sitting in the waiting room since four in the morning, when Nate calls her to let her know that it's "any minute now". Exhaustion is drumming against the inside of her skull and she knows her hair is disheveled but this is one time in her life when she doesn't care at all. She turns the stuffed bunny she's brought in her hands, stroking its soft lavender ears. On her lap is a copy of US Weekly; she's barely read any of it.

Dan runs into the waiting room at six-thirty, coat billowing behind him, late as usual.

"The baby -- is she here yet?" he gasps, gulping air.

"Where _were_ you? I've been here since four," she says, flipping the magazine closed.

"My phone was off," he says, as if that's an excuse for anything. He straightens and fixes his coat, sits down heavily next to her. "What's that, a bunny? Cute."

Blair lets him take the toy out of her hands to examine. "So why was your phone off? You knew Serena was due any day now."

"It died," Dan's tone is mild, but she can tell he's getting a little annoyed. "While I was asleep. I had no idea it was off."

"You couldn't plug it in -- "

"I was at Steph's place, okay?" he snaps.

"Oh." Blair folds her arms across her chest. "Okay." She's forgotten about Dan's girlfriend. They've only met once so far, at Nate and Serena's New Year's party. Stephanie looked like she was just shy of legal, with her tiny stature and sweet-cheeked smile. "So that's going well?"

"Yeah, we're -- we're very happy." He hands her back the bunny and settles back to wait, closing his eyes. She watches him for a little bit until it starts to feel creepy.

Blair jerks him out of a doze when Nate pushes the door open, comes around towards them with a dazed expression.

"Come in, guys," he says.

Dan and Blair follow him down the hospital hallway. Anticipation is making Blair feel heady. Combined with the lack of sleep, she almost feels like she might faint.

Serena is sitting up in the hospital bed, cradling a swaddled infant in the crook of her arm. Her blonde hair is mussed, spreading in tendrils against the mound of pillows behind her. She looks up when they enter, her face open and raw with exhaustion and sweat and joy.

"Meet your goddaughter," Nate says softly. "This is Clara Lily Archibald."

Blair sits down at the edge of the bed, drawing back the blanket to look at Clara's face. She's awake, drinking steadily from a bottle, her blue eyes staring back at Blair. Blair runs the pad of her finger against Clara's cheek, feeling the silk-smooth of her red-splotched skin. She has a crown of pale hair, almost white-gold.

"She's beautiful," Blair whispers.

Dan leans over the blanket too and strokes the top of Clara's head. "She's tiny."

"Yeah, she's perfect," Serena says, smiling.

 

The afternoon of Clara's first birthday party is warm for March, but it would be impossible to have the party outside like Serena irrationally wanted. The boys decorate the brownstone with streamers and balloons, hanging up a banner across the dining room that says HAPPY 1ST BIRTHDAY, CLARA. Blair organizes the caterers and the flowers, while Serena puts Clara in the dress Blair's given her. It's forest green and long-sleeved, with a line of three tiny daisies across the chest, just like Serena's favorite dress from when she was a kid.

"I still think we should've gone with a theme," Blair says. "Even something simple like princesses."

"She's one," Serena bounces her daughter on her hip. Clara's hair has darkened since she was born into a deep, burnished gold. She's clutching the plush bunny that Blair bought her and the attachment she has to Bunny makes Blair feel unreasonably pleased. "She's not going to remember anything about this party. We can throw her a themed party when she's old enough to enjoy it."

"I'm just saying that I could have found her the perfect princess dress."

"Well, she can go as a princess for Halloween. Isn't that right, baby?" Serena kisses Clara on the nose. "Do you want to be a princess for Halloween so Aunt Blair can buy you a costume?"

Clara sticks three of her fingers in her mouth and sucks on them, laying her head against Serena's shoulder.

The party goes off without a hitch. The adults eat prosciutto, asparagus, and parmesan wrapped in phyllo, with healthy doses of wine, and the kids are fed gourmet mac and cheese. The clown pulls ribbons from his mouth for Clara, which makes her giggle. Blair thinks he's creepy, but Dan (who hired the guy) looks pleased as punch. She rolls his eyes. The last thing they need is for Humphrey's ego to inflate even more.

They sing happy birthday loudly, off-key, and Nate's mother takes a picture of the four of them: Serena and Nate, Dan and Blair, clustered around Clara.

"How awesome was that guy?" Dan asks rhetorically, lying on the living room rug with Clara gurgling, sprawled on his chest. He feeds her bits of cake with his fingers.

"Stop feeding her that stuff, Dan," Serena warns. "She's never going to sleep tonight and it's not you that has to be up with her."

"Relax, Serena. It's her birthday. You only turn one once," Nate says, putting his arm around her shoulders.

Blair takes the plate of cake away from Dan. "Yes, but diabetes is a disease for life."

Dan makes silly faces at the baby. "Don't mind Aunt Blair, Clara. She takes joy in being joyless."

"And Uncle Dan seduces all the girls with his razor-sharp wit."

"Well, Aunt Blair uses sarcasm as a tool to hide behind -- "

"And Uncle Dan -- "

"All right, guys. We get it," Serena says, scooping Clara up. "You hate each other, blah blah blah."

"Hey." Nate pops the cork off a bottle of champagne, and even though Blair has already had two glasses of wine, she accepts the flute when he offers it to her. "Let's have a toast, huh? To Dan and Blair, who hate each other, but who both love Clara with all their miserable hearts."

Dan laughs and raises his flute to Blair's, lifting his eyebrows. "To hating you."

"No," she says, "to hating _you_."

"To all you assholes," Serena says, taking a sip from her champagne. "Now get out of my house so I can put my daughter to bed."

 

Serena calls at three in the afternoon sounding harried and stressed. "I hate to ask you this, Blair, but would you watch Clara for us tonight?"

Blair's standing on the street corner, sticking her hand out for a cab, trapping the phone between her shoulder and ear and holding a coffee from Dean & Deluca. She swears this is the first nice day all month. People keep chuckling about April showers, but fuck that. "What happened to your sitter?"

"She bailed on us this morning. Her boyfriend drove into the city today to surprise her for their six-month anniversary. I really can't blame her, but Nate and I have to go to this fundraiser. I can call Dan if you can't take her, but you're on our way downtown and he's all the way in Brooklyn."

"Please, Humphrey would feed her candy for dinner. I'd be happy to watch her."

"No date with James tonight?" Serena's tone is teasing, touched with relief.

"He's in San Francisco for a medical conference." Blair can't help but flush with pleasure at the thought of James though, happy with her boyfriend of six short weeks. "He'll be back in two days. So I'm happy to spend time with Miss Clara tonight. Drop her off anytime."

They drop her off at a little after six, loaded with armfuls of Clara's things: a travel crib, blankets, a diaper bag with extra diapers and baby food, another diaper bag stuffed with toys and books and DVDs, a booster seat. Blair opens the door and laughs at the sight of them, dressed to the nines, holding all the stuff.

"It's like she's moving in," she jokes, taking a diaper bag from Serena, as she leads the way into the den where Nate unfolds the travel crib.

"We should've just had you stay at our place," Serena says. "I can't believe we didn't think of that."

Nate groans. "I am not hauling this back down to the car."

"Thank you so much for watching her, Blair. You're a lifesaver." Serena fusses with Clara's hair a little. She rattles off a list of instructions, nervously, like Blair's never watched Clara before, and Blair tries not to show her impatience.

"We really appreciate this," Nate adds when Serena's finished, leaning in to peck Blair on the cheek. "We'll pick her up around eleven."

Blair feeds Clara a jar of pureed peas while they watch an episode of _Go, Diego, Go!_ on the television in the den. It's one of the most painful things Blair's ever had to sit through, and she's not sure if she's more upset about that or the little green stains the peas leave on the skirt of her dress. By eight-thirty, she has Clara bathed, changed, and falling asleep against Blair's shoulder. She doesn't stir when Blair places her gently in the crib, covering her with a soft fleece blanket.

Eleven o'clock comes and goes. Blair checks the clock on her phone, surprised when she realizes it's 11:20 and Nate and Serena haven't called yet. She leans against the kitchen island and dials Serena. It rings six times and goes to voicemail. Nate's phone does the same thing.

At 11:46, she calls Dan.

"Blair?" he answers, voice thick with sleep. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Shut it, Humphrey," she says and takes a deep breath. "Have you heard from Nate or Serena tonight?"

"No." His voice changes, turning sharp. "Why? What's happened?"

"Nothing. I don't know. They asked me to watch Clara while they went to this fundraiser, but they were supposed to pick her up at eleven and -- " Despite her best efforts, she can tell her tone is veering towards hysterical. "They're not picking up their phones. I've called five times."

She hears shuffling on the other end. "Um. Okay. I'll make some calls and then I'll come to your place. Just, stay calm, Blair. I'm sure they're just running late. They probably got caught up talking to someone. You know how longwinded that stuff can get."

"Yeah." She takes another deep breath, holds it for a second, and lets it out through her nose. "Okay." She pauses. "Thanks, Humphrey. I -- " The phone beeps shrilly, cutting her off. She doesn't recognize the number. "Hang on, I have a call coming in. It might be them."

But it's not and she feels her heart stop when she hears the words on the other end: "Hello Miss Waldorf. This is Officer Lopez calling from the NYPD. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come up to Mount Sinai Hospital."

"I -- What's this regarding?" she asks, her body starting to shake.

Officer Lopez pauses on the line. "There's been an accident."

 

The ER waiting room is overheated and harshly-lit, flat-screen televisions hanging on the walls. Blair can't remember how she got there, clutching Clara swaddled in a blanket, sitting in the corner. Clara is half-asleep and docile, but the weight of her is comforting somehow. There's something about ER waiting rooms that makes Blair feel cold. She flexes her fingers as she tries to focus on the officer, speaking to her as if through a fog. She hates it here. She hates it here and she want to go home, crawl into bed, and never emerge again.

A car accident, he tells her. An inebriated driver going a little too fast collided with them headfirst. Serena died instantly, but they thought Nate might have had a fighting chance. He died when they got to the hospital. He didn't suffer much, he adds, like that's supposed to be a comforting thought.

She stands when Dan arrives, flying into the room, his eyes wide with an emotion she can't place. He walks straight towards them, enveloping her and Clara in a hug that she feels like she could dissolve into. God, it's just stupid Humphrey, but right now he's the best thing she's ever seen. He smells like sleep and something faintly spicy, which is probably takeout he got from a restaurant that's violated the health code, but she could care less right now. She doesn't know how long they stand like that, until Clara starts to squirm. She doesn't know who's holding who.

"They're gone, Dan," she whispers, voice cracking on his name. She's never called him that before.

He takes a shuddering breath and she can feel that he's crying, cheek pressed against the top of her head, and then she's crying too. The first tears she's been able to shed since she's gotten the news. They both cry, standing like that in the ER, still holding Clara, and waiting for their friends who won't ever come home.

 

Blair thinks she must have managed to do it at last: fall asleep while still being awake. At least that's only way she can explain the state she's in when they get back to her apartment. She's numb with exhaustion and her arms ache from carrying the sleeping Clara. She doesn't want to know what time it is, but time doesn't even seem to matter anymore. It reminds her of the semester in college when Serena took a gender studies class and started telling Blair that time was a social construct whenever Blair asked her what time it was. And now Blair's thinking about it, how annoyed she was every time Serena would bring it up again. It seems so stupid in retrospect.

Dan puts Clara in her travel crib, tucking her bunny in next to her. He rests his palm against Clara's back for a long minute before turning back to Blair, watching from the doorway.

"You should get some rest." He nods towards Clara. "I'll stay with her."

"You should sleep too," Blair says. "The guest bedroom has clean sheets. Um. But I have blankets and pillows in the closet, if you want to sleep here in the den. Let me just -- let me get them."

"No, it's okay. I'll get them. Go to bed, Blair."

She doesn't fight it, just tells him it's the closet in the guest room, and collapses onto her bed. She doesn't bother to get under the covers and instead curls up in the center. She still wants to cry but she's too tired to do that either. She might be too tired to even go to sleep and she lies in the dark, staring up at her ceiling, just thinking that her best friends are dead and their kid doesn't have parents anymore and how the fuck could the universe be this fucking unfair. Sleep pulls at her like the undertow, dragging her under a wave of black, lulling her deeply and steadily into a dreamless torpor.

The morning light is pale and watery, spreading across her bedspread. She opens her eyes and stretches, unable to recall momentarily why she's still dressed, and why she's lying on top of her comforter. Her shoulders ache from the position she's been curled in. Memory crystallizes into focus when she sits up and her body jerks, an involuntary reaction that leaves her breathless. She makes a call to her assistant, mumbling her way through an explanation that she hopes is comprehensible, and drags herself to the closet to get dressed.

Dan's awake already when she pads into the kitchen. "Hey," he says when he notices her, setting a pan on one of the gas burners. "How are you doing?"

She shrugs, shifts her weight to one foot. "Okay. I guess."

"You need to go grocery shopping." He cracks an egg into a bowl. "You don't have any food."

"I know. I don't really, uh, eat here much." Or at all. She approaches the counter. "Where did you get the eggs?"

"The market across the street. So I heard from Serena that you have a new beau. Surgeon, huh? Nice catch." He has his head down and his tone is mild enough that she can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. "Have you called him yet?"

Blair's forgotten all about James. "No. He's probably in a conference session right now. I'll call him later."

They're interrupted by a sudden, piercing wail. Dan puts down the bowl he's whisking.

"I'll get her," Blair says quickly.

It's a weird breakfast, the three of them, eating in mostly silence. Blair pushes the scrambled eggs Dan made around her plate listlessly. They're cooling rapidly and ugh, she hates cold eggs. Clara eats cereal off the tray off her booster seat, all the while babbling nonsense words. She doesn't know her parents are dead, Blair thinks. And now she's going to grow up without them.

"Oh, sweetheart," she says. "Who's going to take care of you?"

Dan watches her and leans over to fix Clara's bib, straightens it. "Their lawyer will know. We have to go down to her office at ten."

Blair closes her eyes. She can already tell this day will last years.

 

"They what?" Dan asks dumbly, bouncing a wriggling Clara in his lap.

Blair's mind is already buzzing with the impossibility, which is exactly how she would rank this level of surprise. It's impossible, a dream. How could Serena never tell her this?

"Mr. and Mrs. Archibald named the two of you their daughter's legal guardians," the lawyer repeats. She scrutinizes the two of them from behind her glasses. "They requested that in the unlikely case of both their deaths," and here she pauses for the briefest second, "that the two of you should raise Clara together."

"But," Blair sputters, unable to think of anything else, " _we're_ not together!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Waldorf, but that's what they requested. You can refuse, of course. Clara could go to a willing family member or the state can take custody."

"I'm not putting her in foster care," Dan says quickly. He looks over at Blair after a second. She gives him a tiny nod.

"It's up to the two of you what to do. I suggest you take some time to discuss the situation and come to a decision."

She says some other things, about court hearings for temporary guardianship and supervision and, if they want to down the line, adoption, but Blair isn't listening. She reaches out for Clara and Dan passes her the baby wordlessly.

"As for the inheritance, the Archibalds left Clara ninety-five percent of their liquid assets. It'll be kept in a trust fund for her until her twenty-first birthday. They have also named the two of you guardians of that. You will be able to withdraw money for Clara's expenses. The remaining five percent goes to Mrs. Archibald's brother, Eric. The two of you were given the deeds to their brownstone on the Upper East Side, as well as their summer house in the Hamptons. There's a smattering of smaller, personal things that are to go to various family and friends."

"They left us their houses?" Dan's tone is incredulous.

"Both of you, yes. It's their wish that Clara be raised in her own home."

"So...what? We just move into their house?" Blair asks, picturing the three of them sitting on the living room couch, without Nate and Serena. The image almost makes her cry again.

"It's your house now."

They scrawl a few signatures down and then they're out on the street again, Dan carrying Clara. Blair knows they should go get her stroller, but she doesn't think she can bear going into their house. And Nate and Serena want them to live there? Are they insane? With Humphrey? They'd kill each other within the space of a day. The only reason they're even being nice to each other now is -- is because -- their friends are gone.

"They gave us their house?" Dan says again.

She thinks of a comment, something scathing about his own place and Brooklyn, but it's neither the time nor the place. She doesn't say anything at all. They walk another block in silence before he puts a hand on her arm.

"What do you want to do now?" he asks.

Blair takes a breath, folds her arms. "We need to go get her stroller and more clothes. And diapers."

"So, their house."

She nods and looks down at her boots. "Yeah."

Dan squeezes her shoulder, gently. "We'll go together, Blair."

Everything in the brownstone is exactly as left, from the coats hanging in the front closet, to the clothes strewn across the bed. Their footsteps are loud against the speckled marble of the foyer. Blair's not sure where their housekeeper is. The house seems to echo with the loss and Blair shivers, but Clara seems happy to be home. She claps her hands together and laughs. Dan takes her to the nursery on the third floor and Blair drifts down the hall.

She's staring at a wedding photo in the master bedroom when Dan finds her. "How are we supposed to stay here?" she asks him. "It's just...full of them."

He sits next to her on the bed, glancing around. "I don't know. I really don't know."

 

The funeral passes in a daze. Dan gives the eulogy and Blair doesn't find one fault with it, which is a sure sign that she's losing her mind. The church is packed full, people standing in the aisles. Everyone coos over Clara, making pity noises and fluffing her hair. Blair paints on a forced smile for the entire day, shaking hands, making small talk. It's just like a million other functions she's been to and she's always been good at lying.

Eric plays with Clara at the wake, crouching next her on the floor. She puts her tiny hands on his knee and Blair can see how they look alike when she tilts her head to one side.

Blair kneels down, mindful of her dress. "She likes you."

"I'm sorry I missed her birthday. Serena sent me pictures, but they really don't do her justice. She's amazing." Eric smoothes a hand against Clara's head, eyes soft.

"Yeah, she really is."

He sits down properly, handing Clara a toy. "I hear they gave you and Dan custody. How's that going?"

She smiles faintly. "Okay. For now. But that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Um."

Eric anticipates her question and he shakes his head slowly. "I can't, Blair. Patrick and I don't even have a permanent home right now. We're spending the next three months in Thailand. And I don't think our relationship can handle a baby."

"She's your sister's daughter."

He bows his head and she can't see his face. "Blair. I can't -- I don't even want kids of my own."

It makes her hate him a little bit, this conversation, even though she gets it. God, she gets it. She's caught herself wishing for before pathetically, but not because she's wishing for Nate and Serena to come back (though she does), but because she wants to wake up in her apartment, going back to her office, spending all day in bed with James. Still. She looks down at Clara and feels guilt, hot in the pit of stomach. How can he not want her? And how can Blair even think about giving her away?

Dan approaches her, stepping back from his own conversation with Lily. He shakes his head.

"She doesn't want Clara?" Blair asks, surprised.

"She does. Of course she does. But her health..." He looks back over at Lily. "I don't think she can handle a toddler."

They wait until everyone leaves, clearing out until it's just them and Clara left. She falls asleep in her pack and play in the living room, still in her black dress, and Blair doesn't want to wake her up just to put her down again.

"So," Dan says, collapsing on the couch and loosening his tie. "What now?"

"I guess," Blair starts hesitantly. "I guess we move in."

 

They take down the wedding pictures around the house, replace them with photographs of landscapes or paintings they both like (there's an argument for the piece that hangs over the mantle, but she manages to badger him into putting up what she wants). They leave a family portrait on Clara's bureau in the nursery and put the rest away in albums. Blair buries herself in changing the curtains, redoing the wallpaper in the bedrooms, trying to make the brownstone less Nate and Serena's and more theirs (what is her life, she doesn't even know anymore).

Dan moves into the master bedroom after a prolonged conversation. He doesn't really want to, but it's the only bedroom that can fit all his bookshelves and his battered work bench. They clear Serena's closet together, packing up her clothes, setting a few aside for Clara's sake, but boxing up the rest for donations. Dan does Nate's closet when Blair's out at work one day. She finds the boxes neatly stacked in the foyer.

She breaks up with James the week after the funeral. He seems a little wistful, but not that surprised really. He didn't expect her to end up with a kid midway through their relationship. She's sorry to see him go, sorrier than she wants to admit, but the Blair that was with him seems like an entirely different person.

She and Dan attend their first session with Clara's social worker. Mandated court supervision is part of the legal guardianship deal, it seems, and Blair knows she's going to hate it as soon as she steps into the cinderblock office. The worker introduces himself as Tom, looking harried. His hair is thinning and there's a marinara stain on his pants. Manila folders fall across his desk in hordes. Blair hates to think what would have happened to Clara had she ended up in state custody. Probably being raised in some sort of crack house.

"Just don't fuck up," are the words Tom parts with.

Blair's days fall into a routine of daycare and diapers, toys scattered everywhere. They retain Clara's nanny, but she's only around for a few hours in the afternoon. Blair goes to work and she comes home and it feels like she's working her second job, which, she never thought she would ever have to do. Dan works from his bedroom during the day, doing god-knows-what, "writing" supposedly though she never sees any proof of it. He occasionally goes to a meeting. One morning she calls in sick and finds him sitting in the kitchen, talking to publishers over Skype.

"Selling your little novel?" she asks, poking around the kitchen for a kettle. She has no idea where Aubrey puts it and she's directed the housekeeper to go pick up the dry-cleaning. "You know, I can see you're emulating Salinger from how little you venture outdoors. And how little you shower."

He closes the video chat window and takes a bite of his bagel, ignoring the dig. "As a matter of fact, there are a couple of publishing houses interested, and you have no proof to base that slander about Salinger's personal hygiene."

"Well aren't you a big hit," Blair says dryly.

"I wouldn't go that far. I'm just hoping for a few moderately decent reviews. Maybe develop a small, but devoted cult following." Dan looks over at her. "Are you feeling okay? What are you even doing?"

"I have a cold. I just need hot water for tea."

He opens a cabinet to her right and takes out a kettle, fills it at the sink, and sets it on the stove. "How did you survive three years on your own in France? Oh right, you were living in a hotel suite."

Blair gives him what she hopes is a scathing look. "How little you think of me, Humphrey. You underestimate my familiarity with the everyday concerns of the middle class."

"Is that a roundabout way of saying that you can boil your own water? Because I don't believe that."

"I just didn't know where the kettle was kept."

Dan lets out a laugh. "Please. We've been living in this house for a month. If you wanted to know where the kettle was kept, you would have discovered it by now."

"Well, I didn't hear you complaining when Aubrey did your laundry last week."

"And I did a load of Clara's things yesterday, including the sheets she puked on. Oh, and then I made dinner." He looks unreasonably pleased with himself. She wants to slap him.

"What are you angling for? A Nobel?"

"Just some acknowledgement that you wouldn't know what household chores were if they were dressed in Marc Jacobs and parading in front of Barney's."

She snorts, a little unbecomingly. "That doesn't even make any sense. Are you sure your novel is the subject of a bidding war or are you just hallucinating?"

Dan shrugs. "It's a pleasant hallucination. I'll bask in it a while longer, if you don't mind."

The kettle whistles on the stove and Blair reaches out a hand for it, jerks her fingers back from the hot steam. Dan wraps a kitchen towel around the handle and sets it down on the counter next to her. She purses her lips.

"Thanks," she says and busies herself with fixing her cup of tea.

He pushes his mug across the counter. "I'll have a cup too. Please."

Blair doesn't need to look up to know that he's grinning. Ass.

 

 

"Oh my god, why isn't she sleeping?" Blair sits down on the floor of the nursery, leaning her cheek against the crib bars. The animal-themed clock on the wall reads 2:13 AM.

Dan rubs a hand across his face, bleary-eyed. "I don't know."

"Ba!" Clara exclaims and scoots towards Blair. She doesn't look tired at all nor does she look like she was screaming her head off just five minutes earlier.

"There must be two of them and they're taking turns, swapping themselves out." Dan lies down on the rug, intercepts Clara in her pursuit of Blair. "Where is your twin hiding, pumpkin? Huh?"

Blair closes her eyes. "Maybe she's mainlining coke from her closet."

"Sure, she's been buying from Davey at daycare."

"I always knew Davey was shifty-looking. And he's bad at sharing."

They spent the evening watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ , thinking Clara was down for the night. They talked about Capote's novella and their favorite scenes and it was nice. Really nice, actually. But Clara started to cry as the credits rolled, while Blair was still thinking about the cat and Audrey Hepburn and aching for her life to be in Technicolor.

"Well, if it isn't coke, it must be something," Dan says.

"Sure," Blair mumbles. Sleep. It's so close, she can taste it. It tastes like all the best things she's eaten in her life -- dark and rich, heady like a nice glass of wine. Suddenly she's sitting at a restaurant in Paris, the waiter putting down a bowl in front of her, and it smells like --

"Hey, you're falling asleep on me." Dan reaches over and shakes her shoulder. She bats his hand away. "We're in this together, remember, Blair?"

"No, leave me alone, Humphrey," she whines. But the dream is broken. She opens her eyes, annoyed. "I was in Paris. And the waiter was about to serve me bouillabaisse."

"A thousand apologies," he says. "Blair -- "

She shushes him. "Be quiet!"

"I -- "

Blair puts claps a hand over his mouth and gestures to Clara, sprawled asleep on the rug, one chubby first clenched around the ear of her bunny. Dan lets out the breath he's been holding. It tickles Blair's palm. She jerks back her hand.

"Oh, thank _God_ ," he whispers.

She gets to her feet and gently lifts Clara into her arms, trying to move her as little as possible. Dan pushes things aside in the crib, lines the plush toys up along one side. They tuck Clara in together, settling the blanket against her sides, and peer down at her. And even though it seems like her brain's dried up with exhaustion, Blair feels like her heart's about to explode outside of her chest. She traces the curve of Clara's ear with a finger.

When she straightens, Dan's looking at her with the oddest expression.

"What? Is there something on my face?" she asks, hand flying up to check.

"Nope, uh, no." He smiles a little."Your face looks great."

Which is awesome, because she totally wants to get hit on by Dan Humphrey at three in the morning when she's feeling her most attractive and, ugh, whatever, why does she even care about that? She doesn't, that's the real answer, and this is all just because she's been sleep-deprived for weeks. Okay, right, she needs to go to bed.

Dan turns the nightlight on, bathing the room in a dim yellow glow. They shut the door softly behind them, until it clicks into place, and then it's just the two of them in the thick quiet of the hallway.

"Well, goodnight," she says and starts for her bedroom.

"Hey, Blair -- " he starts. She turns, expectant. "Um. Nothing. I just, yeah. Goodnight. Sleep well."

 

"I think you need a night out," Rochelle says, handing Blair a stack of photographs to approve. "I think this mommy thing is turning you crazy."

Blair follows her gaze towards her desk, which is littered with a combination of children's toys and empty coffee cups from Starbucks from when she brought Clara to work with her two days earlier. "Gabby was supposed to clean that," she says weakly. "I don't know where she is."

"It's not about the desk. It's about your sanity." Rochelle sits down across from Blair's desk, looking very serious. "When was the last time you had a night out?"

"I don't have time to go out. I have a one-year-old and a full-time job." Blair flips through the photographs briskly but if she's honest with herself, she's not really paying attention. "It's been a while," she admits after a minute of silence.

"I thought that you got nights off."

"Yeah, but I've been using them so I can stay longer at the office."

Rochelle stares at her. "Are you serious? You're kidding right now, right?"

"I've had a lot of work! It's not going to accomplish itself. And at least work doesn't keep you up all night, screaming." Blair hands back half the stack, tapping the top one with her finger. "This pile's good to go."

"It's Friday. You can't seriously be thinking about working late tonight."

Blair doesn't look up. "You can check with Gabby, but I think it's Humphrey's turn to have the night off. He's been nattering on about his painfully lame seduction efforts in pursuit of this girl he met at Knopf."

"Ah, trouble in paradise?"

"I'm not dignifying that with an answer."

Rochelle shrugs. "I don't know how the two of you are raising a kid together and haven't slept together yet."

"I told you, I _loathe_ him, and this conversation is now inappropriate for the workplace." She hands Rochelle the other half of the photos. "There. Now you're free to go."

"Yes, I frequently spend my time living in the same house as the guy I _loathe_ ," Rochelle says as she gathers up the stack and scurries out the door.

It's more complicated than that, is what Blair wants to yell after her, but she doesn't really know how complicated it is really. She's been wondering more and more lately how sustainable their situation is. How long will it be before one of them decides to move on with their life, start their own families? What happens to Clara then?

She gets a text from Rochelle at 4:30: gabby says its dans night! lets get u TRASHED :D

"I can't stay long," Blair says when they sweep into the restaurant down the block. She's already thinking about the wine she's going to order with her meal. "Just dinner."

"And one drink at Stir. I swear. Scout's honor. I'll put you in a cab myself." Rochelle places one hand over her heart.

One drink turns into three drinks, none of which Blair buys herself. She's pretty pleased with this fact so she lets herself flirt outrageously with Guy #3 even though she'd normally never even look at a man with blond tips. Not even when she was going through her short-lived slut phase in college. He says his name is Luke and that his apartment is just a short cab ride away. His hand feels hot against the small of her back.

"Dude, she's a _mom_. You can't treat her like a cheap one-night stand," Rochelle tells him in her drunk, insistent tone.

"I am _not_ a mom," Blair protests. "I'm not a mom! She's not my kid! I mean, not technically. She belongs to my friend and she's dead. The friend, not my kid. Who's not even really mine -- "

But Luke bolts anyway. Well, that probably saves Blair from making what could have been a disastrous decision. Blond tips. Honestly. Rochelle helps her teeter outside to the curb, where she flags down a cab, and half-slides, half-falls into the backseat.

"Have a good night?" Dan asks when he opens the front door, disapproving. She's been pawing through the contents of her purse, looking for her keys for the last five minutes.

"Save it," she says and shoves past him into the foyer. Her voice rings off the walls.

"Lower your voice. I don't want you to wake Clara." He follows her into the kitchen, where she pours herself a glass of Pellegrino from the fridge. "How can you act like this?"

"Act like what?" She takes small, slow sips, leaning her weight against the sink.

"Drunk. Irresponsible." Dan folds his arms across his chest. "How does that look for Clara?"

Blair throws out her arms. "Well, she's not here to see it."

"Because I put her to bed."

"God _dammit_ , Humphrey! It's just one fucking night, okay? One _fucking_ night." She takes a deep breath and finds that it comes out choking on a sob. "No matter how hard we try, we can't just become Nate and Serena. We can't move into their home and take on their lives. We're just, we're frauds. We're little kids playing a very grown-up version of house. They made a decision to have a baby and I didn't get to. I just got one. SURPRISE, BLAIR! Congrats! Here's a kid for you!"

Dan's face is hard and stoic. He says nothing.

"I love her. Of course I love her. It's just that sometimes, sometimes I just want to go out and pretend that I still get to have my own life. So please, please lower yourself from your moral high ground and get the fuck away from me." She's crying now, messy, and she wipes at her eyes with the back of her arm.

There's a long silence, broken only by the sounds of her quiet gasps that she manages to get under control. Blair splashes water on her face, cold against the flush of her cheeks. She thinks he's left the room when he speaks and the surprise of it makes her start.

"You think I don't understand that?" Dan asks. "You think this has been easy for me? My best friend is dead too, Blair, just like you. And I miss him. I miss him every fucking day I'm in his fucking house, sleeping in his fucking bed. He was like my brother. And no, we're not perfect. We're far from perfect. But they still chose us to raise the most precious thing they had. They gave us Clara. And no matter what, she's yours. Ours. For life."

She pulls a clean dishtowel out of a drawer and wipes her face with it. There's another stretch of silence.

"Go up to bed. I'll bring you an aspirin," he finally says, not looking at her.

Blair doesn't know if he does. She turns off the lights and lies down in her bed, intending to stay awake so maybe she'll think of something witty to retort with, but when she opens her eyes it's morning. Her headache is so intense that she lets out a muted cry in the dawn light.

She drinks what seems like a gallon of water from the tap in her bathroom (nothing like a vicious hangover to make her break all her rules about filtered water) before ransacking the medicine cabinet for painkillers. There's an old bottle of Advil in the top corner and she pops two before going downstairs.

Dan's feeding Clara breakfast at the dining table. She pauses on the stairs to watch. He zooms the spoon around her head, making little noises, and pulls funny faces to get her to open her mouth. It's slow going but he's patient and kind and it makes Blair's heart hurt a little.

He notices her there after a few minutes and he puts Clara's bowl down.

"I'm sorry," he says. "About last night. I didn't -- I shouldn't have accused you of being an irresponsible parent. You're a great parent and Clara loves you."

She draws her silk robe tighter around her. She suddenly wishes she had put on her slippers. "Thanks." She takes the last few steps down to the floor and approaches the table. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry too. I know this is just as hard for you as it is for me."

Dan smiles. It's small, but she can tell it's genuine. The relief that spreads through her takes her by surprise. "An apology from Blair Waldorf? I never thought I'd see the day."

Blair wrinkles her nose. "I was going to offer you a truce, but since you plan on making a mockery of me, I think I'm going to withdraw that generous opportunity."

"I think our arguing brings out the best in each other anyway," he says. "It makes us more interesting people at least. And you know we have more in common than you want to admit."

"That is actually pretty indisputable," she agrees, and gives Clara a kiss good morning.

 

They don't go to the Hamptons until the first week of August. The air in the city is thick and hot, hitting Blair in the face as soon as she opens the front door. It seems to her that even the trees are wilting and just the walk from the stoop to the intersection where she hails a cab makes her slick with sweat. She pulls damp hair off the back of her neck with great annoyance and thinks longingly of salt air and the breeze off the water.

"We're going to the Hamptons," she announces when she arrives home, barging into Dan's bedroom.

He's sitting at his desk, typing madly away at his laptop. "You know, they invented this thing called knocking. Really crazy concept -- let me explain it to you. See, you tap on the door with your hand to create a noise that will alert the person on the other side of the door to the fact that you would like the door to be opened."

Blair ignores this and sits down at the edge of his rumpled bed. "I already have Aubrey packing up Clara's things. We'll head out first thing tomorrow morning. I can't stand another minute in this heat."

"And have you given any thought to the fact that I may have my own plans in August?"

"Yes, why don't you tell me about them, these grand plans you have." She gives him an innocent, questioning look.

Dan makes a noise somewhere between a long-suffering sigh and a groan. "Fine. But get out of my room. A man needs privacy to pack."

She leaves him sorting through his closet as she bounds downstairs to intercept a toddling Clara (she took her first steps at the Morgan Library; how's _that_ for cultured?) and the much-aggrieved nanny.

The house is airy and cool when they arrive, the windows thrown open. Blair's only been down here once since the previous summer, when she and Dan came to check on it shortly after the accident. Nate and Serena's summer staff have cleaned the house and put fresh sheets on the beds, stocked the fridge full with Clara's favorite foods. But Blair's forgotten that they haven't touched this place, not really, and it remains a shrine to Nate and Serena's relationship. The large framed portrait over the mantle tells her so. She bites her lower lip and takes Clara from Dan, holding her tight.

"Let's go see your room, sweetheart," she says to Clara, striding off. "I can't wait to redecorate."

That ends up being her number one preoccupation for the next month. She works via Skype, delegating most of her responsibilities to her office staff, and going into the city a few times. There's a few parties (well, a lot of parties, but they only attend a few) and a lot of shopping (Blair replaces the whole interior of the house, pretty much). They find Clara a babysitter for the mornings, when Blair and Dan both work at their respective laptops by the pool. After lunch they go to the beach, lounging and watching as Clara digs her feet into the sand.

Blair catches Dan studying Clara one afternoon, napping on the beach blanket under the shade of an umbrella. There's a fine layer of salt on her sun-kissed shoulders, grains of sand lodged in her hair. She's been practically living in the ruffled bathing suit Blair bought her.

"What?" Blair asks, prodding Dan in the ribs.

He starts, drops his copy of the New Yorker. "Nothing. I just want her to stay grounded, that's all."

"What does that mean?"

"You know, free of bourgeois airs and the like." He's grinning at her like it's a joke, but she senses that he's legitimately concerned about this. There's a tightness to his levity.

"She's growing up on the Upper East Side. Right now we're summering in our private beach house in the Hamptons. She's never going to be one of the masses." And, Blair thinks, she would never let that happen to Nate and Serena's daughter.

He shrugs. "Okay, yeah. And I'm sure you have schools picked out for her and the rest of her life mapped, but I just... I just don't want her to be like every other Upper East Side kid. I want her to know what it's like elsewhere, that there's a whole other world of people."

"I do not have the rest of her life mapped. I just have...ideas."

"Blair," he says, serious.

"Humphrey," she mirrors at him.

"You can call me Dan, you know. Nothing's going to happen to you if you do. The world won't collapse in flames."

She shifts in her beach chair. "Fine. _Dan_."

"Now say it like it's a name you call someone and not a viral disease."

"Dan," she says, enunciating carefully, "get on with it. What do you want?"

"I want to take Clara to do normal stuff sometime. Like, take her to a water park or the farmers' market or just on a walk through Park Slope."

"That's all? You want to take her to buy produce and accompany you to Brooklyn?"

He rolls his eyes. "I thought we could do those things together. You never know. You might, God forbid, enjoy yourself."

She tells him yes because she wants him to leave her alone, but she sees him smiling out of the corner of her eye and thinks that maybe one trip to the farmers' market wouldn't be so horrible after all.

What in the world is wrong with her? She doesn't even know.

 

Dan wants to take Clara apple-picking on Columbus Day Weekend. He whines at Blair all week, leaving her little notes, sending her emails and text messages at work with pictures of orchards. Aubrey bakes a pie and Dan puts a little card by it: DELICIOUS. BUT WOULD BE BETTER WITH PICK-YOUR-OWN APPLES. Blair holds out until Friday night, when she finally tells him they can go. His stupid face lights up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.

They go to Vermont just the three of them, Dan driving the rental car, and Blair sitting shotgun staring outside at the highway. The children's music Dan's playing off his iPod is making her zone out.

"This is going to be so much fun," he says, peering into the rearview mirror. "Right, Clarabee?"

Clara yawns in response, looking back with sleepy eyes.

It actually is fun, Blair grudgingly admits a few hours later, snapping a picture as Dan holds Clara up to an apple-laden bough. The air is brisk, but they're snugly dressed, and the sky is clear. In the horizon are mountains, lit up in a riot of colors. It's all kinds of gorgeous. But there aren't nearly enough people around and way too many trees. Blair trails Dan and Clara through the orchard, watching them pick apples (rather, Dan picking apples and Clara trying to). She lets Dan take a picture of her pretending to take an apple off a tree.

"Let's take her on the hayride!" Dan exclaims excitedly when they lug their apples back to the entrance.

Which is how Blair finds herself sitting in a rickety wagon, trying not to pierce herself on particularly savage hay. If only the Upper East Side could see her now, she thinks. But Clara is really taking to this country thing like a duck to water. She throws up her arms, squealing with excitement, as they bump down a dirt road around the farm. There are cows and horses and oh good lord, pigs. Clara takes the opportunity to yell out the names of the animals, tugging at the sleeve of Blair's coat.

"Cow!" Clara says with utmost sincerity, grabbing Dan's arm.

They buy a bag of apples and drive to the country inn Dan found on Google. Blair keeps finding bits of hay clinging to her skirt, which is really the only downside to the day. That is, until they get to the inn.

"But we reserved two rooms," Dan says, confused, to the clerk at the front desk.

"There's only one room?" Blair's voice squeaks, panicked. Clara squirms in her arms, babbling about getting down. "No, no, no. We need _two_ rooms. Dan, you did reserve two rooms, right?"

Dan glares at her. "Of course I did, Blair."

The man gives them an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey. We must have written it down wrong, but we only have one room left. It's peak season for leaf peeping. Please, have a free dinner with us tonight. It'll be on the house."

Dan sighs. "Thank you. That's very nice, but, um, we have our, uh, daughter with us."

As if this could get any weirder. Blair shifts Clara from one hip to the other, hoping the discomfort isn't too obvious in her expression. Humphrey, on the other hand, looks like he might burst into laughter.

"We can set up the table in your room. We've put you in the Rose Suite, which is in the guesthouse. It's just off the main building, but it has a private entrance and a terrace that overlooks our garden. Please, we would love to make sure that your romantic weekend is as wonderful as possible."

Then you should've given us two rooms, Blair thinks churlishly, but Dan cocks his head to one side at her.

She gives the clerk a tight-lipped smile. "Sure. Fine. Thank you."

The suite is roomier than she expected, with big windows in the adjoining sitting room, and the view is certainly impressive. She stares out at the sweeping mountains, bathed in the light of the setting sun. Dan sets up Clara's travel crib and turns on the television, popping in a _Backyardigans_ DVD they brought. He turns the volume down, plops Clara on the couch, and walks over to Blair.

"Sorry," he says. "But on the bright side, there's a couch."

"Can you sleep on it?" Blair asks, deadpan, not bothering to turn around.

He laughs a little. "Even if I can't, there's always the floor."

"Very chivalrous," Blair says coolly.

Two inn employees set up a dinner table on the terrace. Blair watches them through the French doors as she walks Clara around the room, trying to lull her to sleep after her bath. Luckily, the excitement of apple-picking has worn her out, and Clara passes out almost immediately. They move the travel crib to dark corner in the sitting room and when they glance outside, candles are flickering on the tabletop. It's a little too cold to be eating on the terrace, but Blair can't complain. It's pretty nice. She puts on her sweater and lets the waiter pull out her seat for her.

"This is nice," Dan says when they've given their orders and the wine has been poured. "Isn't it?"

"Always stating the obvious, Humphrey," Blair says, although it comes out more fondly than she intended. Maybe the wine is going to her head already.

"I mean, this turned out nicer than I thought it would," he amends awkwardly.

It suddenly occurs to her that this is a date. She's on a date with Dan Humphrey and he's eyeing her from across the table and oh god -- they're even at an inn in Vermont right now. Their waiters are giving her knowing looks and geez, her face is feels hot. She takes a long drink of water, nodding as he's yammering on about something, his novel or New England authors, which she would like to join him in conversation about but it kind of feels like she might need to die. At any minute.

She excuses herself to go use the bathroom. She runs the water and leans against the closed door, shutting her eyes. For some reason she thinks of Serena and then of that disastrous first date with Dan all those years ago, sitting in that disgusting little coffee shop in Williamsburg. Blair stares at her reflection in the mirror. The worst part of all of this, she thinks, is that it isn't horrible. Because, well, she likes him. She actually likes Humphrey. Or she likes spending time with him and watching movies and taking care of Clara with him and he looks really good tonight in his suit that he brought because she made him and oh god oh god, she has a crush on Dan Humphrey.

"Fucking Serena," she mutters under her breath and stalks out the door.

"Are you okay?" Dan asks when she sits back down.

"Perfect." She smiles at him. "Why?"

"You just look a little flushed."

"I'm fine. Just famished. Oh, look, appetizers!" And she digs into the food like her life depends on it, which, at least her sanity does.

They linger over desserts, tasting each other's ice cream and molten chocolate cake. Blair knows she's flirting now which she is going to hate herself for in the morning, but right now she's loose with alcohol and happy to be with him and it's fun. It's fun to banter and tease and talk. And as it gets colder and darker out, she thinks that it's kind of unbelievable that it's even taken her this long. Dan's a great guy. Single, handsome, kind, funny, smart. Why shouldn't she like him? Besides, she already knows she likes his kid.

There's a lull in the conversation and she fiddles with the edge of her napkin, shivers a bit. Her fingers are freezing.

"So, should we go inside?" Dan gestures towards the suite. "You seem like you're going to turn blue at any second."

She gives him a tight nod and he helps her out of her chair. Inside she turns on a table lamp. Dan stands over Clara's crib, taking off his jacket. He unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt and rolls the sleeves up.

"How is she?" Blair whispers.

"Sound asleep." Dan puts a finger to his lips and reaches down to pick Clara up. She stirs a little, nestling her head against his arm. "Pick up the crib."

They settle Clara again in the bedroom, tiptoeing out when they're done, shutting the door behind them. Blair sinks down on the couch, knowing the movement causes the skirt of her dress to draw up her legs. She can feel Dan's eyes following the hem and that makes the knot in her stomach tighten. Her thighs brush together as she crosses her legs. Her mind's going all sorts of places, like the gutter for instance.

He sits down next to her. "Hey."

"Hey," she grins. "Thank you for dinner. It was lovely."

"Sure. It was free, but I'll take the credit." God, he really is looking great. She _must_ be drunk because she's thinking about taking his shirt off, sliding her hands up his chest. "Blair?"

She blinks. "Hmm? Sorry."

He takes a deep breath, holds it just a second longer than normal. "Blair. Um." He's staring at her mouth. "Look, I, uh," he laughs, nervously. "God."

"Humphrey." She leans into him. "Spit it out." But he doesn't get a chance to because she kisses him, grabbing the front of his shirt, crumpling it in her fist, and pulls him against her. He tastes sweet, reminiscent of the chocolate he had for dessert. She makes a noise and he groans.

She fumbles with his buttons, tearing at them with a sudden desperation. His hands are on her waist, her legs, her ass. He breaks away to push the cardigan off her shoulders, kisses her again, fiercely.

"Blair," he gasps when she needs to breathe. "Are you sure?"

He's giving her this look, all worried and nervous, and it's simultaneously endearing and pathetic as fuck because she's so turned on now and he's asking her if she's sure. God, he's such a girl. She almost forgets sometimes. She reaches between them and cups him through his pants, loving the way his eyes darken and his mouth falls slack.

"Shut up and fuck me," she instructs.

Blair's pretty pleased that for once in his life, Dan manages to do what he's told.

 

How do you date someone you live with? Blair isn't quite sure, but she's fairly certain that's what she and Dan are doing. In most respects their routines don't change: they read to Clara and take her to kids' events at the New York Public Library and MoMA and Dan still makes dinner most nights and Blair still doesn't do any chores. But there's the added bonus of sex. Sometimes in his room, sometimes hers, and sometimes on the kitchen counter.

It feels strange. Not bad. Just odd. And the thought of it sometimes makes her freak out silently. They're suddenly a complete family unit. Not that they weren't before, but now that she and Humphrey are, for lack of a better phase, "romantically involved," she can't deny her connection to him anymore. It's terrifying, if she can admit that.

Pros: the sex is great. Cons: aliens have taken over her body because she actually wants to kiss him in public. And when she sees him her heart skips a little. And he smells really good. The list is long.

"This was your plan all along," she hisses to the picture of Nate and Serena, sitting on Clara's dresser. "I know you two plotted this." Yeah, she's pretty much losing her mind.

They go to their last social worker appointment of the year between bouts of Christmas shopping. Dan whined at her as he pushed Clara's stroller through the crowds in Saks, claiming domestic abuse. She actually had to kick him finally because they were starting to attract alarmed looks from bystanders. She sits in the fluorescent-lit waiting room at social services, Dan holding her hand, and hopes he's gotten his second wind because they still have to go to Bloomingdales after this.

"Merry Christmas," Tom says glumly when they enter his office. It's as messy as ever.

Blair tamps down the urge to swab the chair with hand sanitizer and sits down, unbuckling Clara from her stroller. She's busy playing with the bubble wrap app on Dan's phone, face screwed up in concentration. She barely notices as Blair lifts her up to sit in Blair's lap.

Tom pulls their file from a stack. It's relatively thin in comparison to some of the others that are bulging with papers. "So how have you guys been doing since I saw you last? It's been, what, three months since the home visit?"

"We've been doing really well," Dan says, turning his smile to Blair. It makes her feel warm all over. "Clara's talking up a storm. She has some friends at daycare and we're thinking about extending her hours there, full-time instead of part-time. Um. Her grandmother Lily and her uncle Eric both came to New York for Thanksgiving, so she got to see them. It's been great."

"Awesome, awesome." Tom nods absently, writing something in their file. "It sounds like you guys are doing great parenting. And Clara looks happy and healthy and loved."

"She is." Blair bounces her a little. Clara doesn't look up from the phone.

"I just have a question for the two of you. It's been about nine months since you were granted custody. I know your lawyer must have mentioned this, but have you given any thought to adoption?"

Blair freezes.

"Well, I don't know about Blair, but I have," Dan says.

"You _have_?" she breathes, incredulous.

"Yeah." He doesn't make eye contact, deliberately avoids her gaze.

Tom twirls his pen between his fingers. "And what are those thoughts?"

"Uh, I mean, Blair and I haven't spoken about this. But, just for myself, I think that I would, um, like to. Adopt Clara." Dan folds his hands in his lap. "I can't imagine living my life without her now and I think of myself as her dad already. It just seems like I should be her dad legally as well."

"That's wonderful to hear, Dan. Blair? What about you?" Both of them crane their heads towards her.

"I don't -- um." She clears her throat. "I hadn't thought about it." She looks down at the top of Clara's head.

Tom closes the file. "Well, give it a bit more time. Dan, when are you going to bring this up with the lawyer?"

"I, uh, I called her last week actually." News, obviously, to Blair. For once in her life, she's legitimately speechless.

"Great! I will heartily recommend you to the judge when the time comes. Thanks for coming in, guys. It was great to see you and Clara as well."

She doesn't say anything to him until they're back outside.

"When the hell were you going to tell me?" she demands.

"We're still bogged down in logistics right now, Blair. There's nothing to tell," Dan defends.

"Yes, there fucking is!" Normally she wouldn't swear this much in front of Clara, but she's so mad now that she can barely think straight. "You're going to _adopt_ Clara? You didn't think I should know about that? You don't think that we should be discussing that, together?"

"No," he snaps back, "you said to me that you weren't sure how sustainable this life was. Remember that? You feel cheated out of your life? How could I ask you about adoption after that?"

Blair flinches, stung. "I was stressed."

"She's a _kid_ , Blair. You can't get stressed and walk away!"

"I didn't!" she yells. "I love her!"

"I know why you won't adopt her," Dan says, his mouth a hard line. "Part of you still thinks that this isn't real, that this isn't your life. You're still waiting for someone to take her away. Well, congratulations, Blair. I'm going to adopt her and you'll be so relieved to know that your year of parenting trials is over. You can go back to your awesome life before Clara came along and ruined everything for you."

"I never said that -- I never said -- " She clenches and unclenches her fingers around the handle of Clara's stroller.

He takes it from her. "I'm taking her home."

Blair lets him, feeling like the argument's hollowed her out inside. They get into a cab and she watches it pull away from the curb, leaving her alone on the city sidewalk, numb with anger and cold.

 

She guesses they're broken up. It's just a hunch.

After the fight, Blair works more hours than ever. All around them the city has settled into the Christmas season, awash in lights and anticipation. She has a Christmas tree set up in the foyer at the house, sends a professional decorator to trim it, but Dan hates it (of course he does) and even though they're technically not speaking, they get into another huge fight about that. In protest he sets up a smaller tree in the den, leaving pine needles scattered across the floor in rebellion (Aubrey sweeps them up the next day without comment).

They go back to trading off nights with Clara. Dan leaves the house when it's Blair's turn. She's not sure where he goes -- Brooklyn, maybe. She feeds Clara sweet potatoes for dinner, the two of them alone in the kitchen.

"I do love you, baby," she says.

Clara looks at her with big eyes and opens her mouth for another spoonful of food.

"Okay," Blair says. "We won't talk about it. But remember that I love you."

Christmas is miserable, as she could have predicted. They had all these plans for them and Clara -- putting up stockings and reading _'Twas the Night Before Christmas_ to her before they put her to bed. But instead Blair finds herself spending Christmas Eve with her mother and Cyrus, Dan having gone off to be with his own family. Clara is at the tail end of a cold and fusses through the gift-opening.

The next morning she wakes up late, knowing Dan has taken Clara to Brooklyn for the day. She turns on her side and curls her limbs together. She doesn't get up until it's almost two the afternoon and hunger drives her from her bed.

So, merry Christmas to her, Blair notes grimly as she pours herself a cup of coffee. She spends the rest of the day eating gourmet Chinese takeout and watching _The Philadelphia Story_. But that only makes her think about Dan and she starts crying, staring at Jimmy Stewart's face. She misses him. She misses stupid Humphrey. God, this is why she shouldn't have had sex with him in the first place because obviously she would end up as the punchline to some big, cosmic joke. Hey, Blair, have sex with the person you hate most in the world and then you're going to fall in love with him and he's going to trample all over your heart!

Their lawyer calls after the New Year. "I gather you and Dan have talked about his intended adoption of Clara."

"Something like that," Blair says, tangling her fingers in the cord of her office phone.

"You'd be relinquishing your guardianship," she warns. "Are you ready to go forward with that paperwork?"

Blair takes a deep breath and fixes the framed picture of Clara on her desk. "Yes, I think so."

"Miss Waldorf," the lawyer says, not unkindly. "I know this must be hard for you. Are you sure you're ready?"

I have to be, Blair thinks. "Yes. I'm ready."

The process goes faster than Blair expects. Dan must have it fast-tracked or something. She signs the last of the paperwork before the end of January and, that's that. She's no longer Clara's legal guardian.

There are a lot of drinks that night.

"You can still see her," Dan says when she's moving her things out of the brownstone. They haven't had a conversation about something other than Clara in weeks. "We can work out a schedule."

Blair's heart feels heavy. She's been crying on and off all morning. "I'd like that."

She leaves before Clara is back from the park with her nanny, promising to pick her up in two days for a morning at the Met. Her apartment, when Blair opens the door, seems cold and uninviting and so unreal. She puts her purse down in the corridor and walks through all the rooms, running her hands over the once-familiar surroundings.

She's been wanting her life back for so long but somehow this doesn't seem like it at all.

 

The first thing that Blair notices when she walks into the house for Clara's second birthday is that Dan's invited back the creepy clown from last year. He pulls a bouquet of plastic flowers out of midair for Blair as she's giving her coat to Aubrey. She's considerably underwhelmed and makes sure that her face tells him so. He scurries off, leaving her feeling pleased with herself.

Clara squeals when she sees her in the foyer, breaking from the crowd of toddlers, and runs straight for Blair's legs.

Blair swings Clara into her arms. "Happy birthday, Clarabee!"

"Birfday!" Clara echoes, clapping her hands.

"Look, I brought you a present." Blair hands her a prettily wrapped box.

Clara gives it an experimental shake and when there's no noise she picks at the bow. Blair carries her into the dining room, where the table and sideboard are laden with plates of sausage rolls and grilled cheeses and chicken wings. There's no mistaking a party thrown by Humphrey, that's for sure.

"Blair," Dan says, leaving a small group of parents behind. He's in his Brooklyn plaid and jeans, padding around the house in bare feet, and being unfairly attractive. "Hey, thanks for coming."

"You know I wouldn't miss her birthday."

Dan gives her a small smile. "I know. I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," she says, and means it. She misses Clara so much that it hurts sometimes, not to mention Dan. Which she's not mentioning, nope.

Later she eats two chicken wings and a grilled cheese (it's not bad) and helps Dan cut the birthday cake. His hand brushes hers as she's giving a slice to a small child and she nearly drops the plate. It's so damn frustrating that it's been three months since the last time they kissed and she still feels this way about him.

Blair helps clean up after the guests have all gone (well, she helps Aubrey take inventory). Clara rides around the first floor on her new scooter, propelled mostly by all the sugar she's eaten. She whizzes by and Blair worries that she's going to collide with a sofa or an end table.

"Too much cake," Dan says, handing her a champagne flute. "I shouldn't have let her eat that second piece."

She takes it. "What's this for?"

"Last year," Dan says softly, looking down into his glass. "I just thought we should keep up the tradition."

Blair clinks her flute against his, the absence of Nate and Serena startlingly apparent in this instant. "I miss them."

"Me too."

They take sips of their champagne in silence. The bubbles tickle the back of her throat.

"I'm sorry," he says suddenly.

"For what?" He hasn't managed to piss her off lately, which seems remarkable, but there you go.

He puts his half-full flute down on the counter. "For the adoption thing, back in December. I'm sorry."

Oh god. Right. That thing. "It's okay. And it looks like you made the right decision." Blair nods towards the other room, at the sound of Clara giggling. "How's single fatherhood treating you?"

He gives a light laugh. "It's hard. Really hard. She misses you. Um, and I do too. We both miss you." And the way he's looking at her, it's… She can't quite think.

"Dan," she says, "I -- I didn't want to give her up."

He nods, frowning. "Yeah."

"I still don't... I miss you too."

He reaches out and she goes, folding herself against him. His heart thunders beneath two layers of fabric, matching the rhythm of hers. She closes her eyes.

"I love you," he says, voice gone so quiet.

She doesn't want to cry. She doesn't, so she laughs instead, draws back a little to look at him and to swipe at the tears in her eyes. "What?"

Dan blushes. "I said I love you, Blair."

"I know. I just wanted to hear you say it again," she says and draws his head down to kiss her.

 

"More," Clara demands, watching Dan pour maple syrup over her stack of apple-cinnamon pancakes. Her gaze is completely focused on her plate. "Daddy, more."

"That's enough syrup," Blair says firmly. She cuts Clara's pancakes into bite-sized pieces for her.

Dan grins from over the rim of his coffee mug. "How are they, kiddo?"

"Yummy," she says through a full mouth. "Are you getting married tomorrow?"

"You know the answer to that." Blair takes a bite of her own pancakes. "What's the day tomorrow?"

"Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday-Friday-Saturday-Sunday," Clara recites so quickly that the words blend together. "Sunday!"

"That's right," Dan prompts. "And what's going to happen on Sunday?"

"Mommy and Daddy are getting married and I'm going to be a FLOWER GIRL," she shrieks, excited beyond belief. They've been telling her for months what's going to happen and she's spent the last week practicing walking down an imaginary aisle, scattering flower petals.

"Yes, the best flower girl ever." Dan reaches over and puts his hand over Blair's, squeezing it. 

"I know," Clara says airily, returning her attention to her pancakes. "Uncle Eric said so."

Blair meets Dan's eyes over the top of Clara's head. "That's your ego," she says.

"Nope, yours," he replies, and leans across to kiss her.


End file.
